Death Or Something Like It
by Xela Xe
Summary: Rodney's latest brush with death was a little too much for John. McShep.


They ignored the people gathered around the gate, ignored Carter calling after them. John needed to get away from everyone and Rodney needed to make sure John was...not going to do anything stupid. Which was how Rodney ended up in John's room.

John felt Rodney following him in an abstract way, in the way that he always knew where everyone was in relations to him. But his thoughts were turned entirely inward, his mind caught on that terrifying moment when Rodney had almost _died_. Not in the 'oh there are crazy aliens shooting at us OMG we're gonna die!' kind of way that was pretty run of the mill these days; no, in the 'there's a goddamn gun to Rodney's head and the fucker just PULLED THE TRIGGER' kind of way. And something in John had died in that moment.

John violently stripped off his vest, gun and thigh holster joining it on the floor moments later. When he turned around, Rodney was looking at him with those eyes and that mouth and that...that RODNEY.

"I...uh..." That was as far as he got before John's mouth as on his, silencing, claiming, reaffirming. Rodney tasted desperation and yearning and desire all rolled into one searing kiss. He threaded his hands through John's thick, crazy hair and pulled him closer.

John's hands flew, mapping the contours of Rodney's body _(alive here warm his)_. His lips skated across the rough stubble, tasted the earthy soil of an alien world before his tongue washed it away and left Rodney, only Rodney, breathing and unharmed. Alive. His brain wasn't splattered across an alien earth; that mind which burned brighter than anything else in John's small universe was still intact, still his greatest strengthweakness.

Rodney's hands were hot against his skin, blunt fingers marking John's flesh more permanent than any tattoo. He stripped off Rodney's shirt; took a moment to meet wide blue eyes before diving back, biting, licking, sucking. He mouthed perky nipples, teased them into angry points, red and reproachful. He sunk lower, licking every inch of pale Canadian skin in desperate confirmation.

The harsh sound of Rodney's belt buckle echoed through the room. The dull thud of Rodney's head hitting the wall as John swallowed him down filled the room a moment later. Rodney gripped the wall, hands searching for some minute imperfection to hold onto as John sucked him, swallowed him whole.

"John," he gasped. "John!" Rodney tugged against that crazy, improbable hair. John allowed himself to be guided up with a whimper of protest.

"Rodney." How one word could sound so broken and urgent, Rodney would never know, but it was John who was hurting, John who was looking for something that Rodney would try his damnedest to give. He claimed John's mouth and propelled them backwards into the bad. They bounced a little; soft mattresses, bad for the back. Rodney grunted as he pulled John's shirt off, messing his hair up even more. (Which he didn't think was possible, but nothing about John Sheppard's hair was possible. It simply was.)

"Boots." It was the first coherent statement from Sheppard this entire time. Rodney rocked back on his knees, trying to unlace military issue boots with clumsy fingers. When he finally got it off, he tossed it over his shoulder. The tinkling sound of breaking glass made him wince, but John was too busy getting Rodney naked to take note or care. John used his super stealthy air force training to flip Rodney on his back, more experienced fingers making short work of the standard boots.

One more tug and Rodney was naked beneath him, panting and aroused. John ran a reverent hand down the broad chest, his desperation giving way to wonder. Here was Rodney, spread willingly underneath him, cock hard and leaking against his stomach, shiny with John's saliva.

"Please." Hands helped divest John of his pants and they were touching, skin to skin. John slid his cock against Rodney's, groaning at the sensation. He sucked red hickeys on Rodney's chest, marking him, making him gasp. He kissed a promise onto Rodey's lips, of _more_ and _want_ and god, _need_. They moved together, syncopated, unified. John gasped and pressed himself flush with Rodney when one calloused hand wrapped around their cocks, sliding them together. The feel of Rodney, broad in every way, was familiar, comforting, arousing. Life affirming. He rocked his hips, slid himself into Rodney's hand, against Rodney's cock. He reached down and rolled the heavy balls between his fingers.

Rodney came with a guttural oath, warm fluid lubricating the glide between their bodies. John followed moments later, biting into the chorded tendons of Rodney's neck.

When the world stopped being fuzzy and indistinct, John rolled away, as much on his back as he could be with Rodney sprawled across his bed. He stared up at his ceiling, his best friend's come cooling on his chest.

"I--" John trails off, realizing he has absolutely no idea what to say, or if he'll ever have the words to say it.

"Yeah," Rodney sighs, and turns into John. He huffs lightly against John's neck and is asleep in moments. John stares down at at the tufts of thin strands Rodney calls hair and feels the side of his mouth quirk.

Yeah.


End file.
